From This Side of the Border
by Yet Another Dark Rose
Summary: In the aftermath of the war against Voldemort the Wizarding World cannot hold up against the muggles. Sent away from their homeland at an early age the children must now come to their parents aid before they burn. NextGen, Slash, Character Death, very AU.
1. Prologue: God Gave Us a Memory

Disclaimer: I do not own, Rowling does.

Just so you know, this is just a way for me to provide you with essential dates. If that's not your thing, do directly to Chap I.

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Prologue, "God gave us a memory-"

The Second Wizarding War, as it would later be referred as, officially ended May second year 2000. At that time the light and the dark side alike had lost many supporters, both to death and to each other. Wizards and witches shred their coats and showed their true colours, some more surprising than others.

Among the more surprising ones you found the Malfoys. While they did not quite belongs to the category of people the Order preferred to recruit as they still, rather blatantly, showed their disgust and mistrust about working alongside muggleborns and halfbloods. They did adapt though, and Draco Malfoy raised many eyebrows as he saved Hermione Granger from a killing curse in the Final Battle.

It was after Harry Potter finally had finished of the Dark Lord with a bullet through his chest, a suggestion from Hermione as a worthy end of the evil creature that no longer could be called a man, killed by a thing made by the very things he despised the most, that the cleansing begun. Death Eaters were rounded up and faced trials as just and fair as that time allowed, in the end it had been rather clear with side you belonged to, the spies had been found while the war still raged and had been killed without hesitation.

November 13 2005, ironically enough a Friday, had been a day most of Britain would remember, even if they had no recollection of the day itself. It had been an ordinary day for everyone until a Death Eater had been discovered in an abandoned building by a couple of muggles. The man had escaped the building in panic which had only increased as he stepped out on the street. A festival of some sort were held right outside and the man, not too well in the thinking department after being on the run for three years, had started to throw curses around himself without a trace of restraint.

The Ministry of Magic, heavily undermanned, had no chance of saving the day. Muggles in thousands had attended the festival, at least half of them carrying cameras, and the whole thing had been broadcasted live throughout the nation. A week later every British muggle was aware of the fact that they had wizards living within their borders and every wizard knew of this awareness. Chaos the islands had never seen before broke out in the muggle world, they were afraid of what these strange freaks could do to them with such powers in their hands.

In this mess a man rose like a light in the darkness, calming his followers and keeping his calm throughout it all. The muggle Prime Minister, Edward Thorn, held a guiding hand out to the panicked mass and steered them where their eyes and hands were bound. In October 2007, nearly two years after the revelation, he arranged a meeting with the current Minister of Magic, Susan Bones, a very competent witch who despite her young age of only 27 years had done much to reaffirm the economy and social structures after the War.

What seemed like a blessing was indeed too good to be true. On stage, only seconds after shaking the witch's hand, Thorn had shouted out orders for her capture. Her guards and fellow Politians immediately rushed to her side, wands ready, but soon discovered that their wands were of little more help than ordinary sticks. They did not stand a chance against the heavily armed muggle military. In homes all over the country its people could hear the struggle, some responding with a frown and others with joyous exclamations. After all, witchcraft is a sin.

The magical community was, once again, in pieces. Most of them were shocked and horrified about the capture of their minister, but that was not the primary thing on their minds. No, what they feared was the fact that the muggles had somehow managed to cancel out their magic. However they did it the effects did not reach far, every single wizard and witch could still use their magic as they always did, but they had seen and heard the effects on TV or WW.

Not many days later, the first ships left the British shore, filled with elders and children under the age of seventeen. The Magic part of England had completely broken ties with the muggle world after the attack on their minister, only stepping in to take in muggleborns. Precautions were taken, not even the child's parents knew of their offspring's abilities and new location. With a few memory-charms they were left with the impression that their kid had earned a place at a prestigious yet not very well known institute for bright and gifted youngsters, which also believed in learning by experiencing and therefore travelled the world, thus its students were rather hard to reach.

With time the situation seemed to calm down and the Ministry of magic, despite of having the smallest staff since the ministry's very founding, prepared to go into negotiations with the muggle ministry.

Those plans were never put in action. In July the following year the muggles suddenly attacked several of the magical districts completely out of the blue, once again catching the wizards of guard. Diagon Alley, St. Mungo's, the Ministry of Magic and several other locations were completely demolished, not a stone or brick was left unturned. They left a clear message; it was time for a witch hunt, not a single drop of magical blood was to remain unshed.

Half a year later Great Britain was practically abandoned by the wizards, only a handful remained to fight for their right to the country given to them by birth. The escapers were not blamed or frowned upon, after such times they had been through most of them were simply too tired to fight any longer. They had spent five years battling the most feared wizard of all time and when they realised that everything they had fought for went down before they had even built it back up, they just could not take it anymore.

Yet these rebels would not give up. Their number was small and the amount of damage they could create was barely noticeable, but that was not what mattered. They showed the muggles that they still existed, that they would not give up, that their spirits were harder than the bullets that might run through their bodies. Among these people many familiar faces were found, faces belonging to those that once stood up to the evil of wizard kind, now to the evil of the muggle kind.

Surprising to some, less so to others, the leader of this rebellion was Hermione Granger, a woman with a brilliant mind and a sharp tongue, always ready to stand up for those less fortunate, which now was her own people. Behind her she had, as always, her faithful husband and her kind hearted friend along with a blond strategist and several other brave fighters. All of these had sent their children away over the ocean to protect them from the danger that raged at home.

Children that had not seen or heard of their parents for years, but would suddenly become aware of their fathers' and mothers' fates when turning on the television one fateful morning in August, 2017.


	2. Chapter I: So That We May Have Roses

Chap one right on ahead folks.

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Chapter I. "- So that we may have roses in December.

Scorpius would always remember the scent of his mother's perfume. It was sweet yet not overwhelmingly so, not the kind that old ladies drench themselves in and cause nausea for those poor people surrounding them.

No, the sweet smell was met by other scents that evened it out; he remembered more than one occasion when a guest or friend of the family sniffed the air when they were around his mother, trying to catch another whiff of that delightful scent.

The formula was not common. In fact, he would even go as far as to claim that his mother had been the only one that had known of it, possibly with exception of Malfoy ladies from earlier generations. The main ingredient was a flower that could be found in one place only; the garden of Malfoy manor. His mother had showed it to him on several occasions and he could still recall its shape and colours if he tried hard enough. The petals had been of a beautiful shade of lavender, but what had been truly remarkable, aside from the aroma, had been the texture. When touching the petal it felt soft and smooth like expensive silk, but if you tried to pull the petal off you discovered that the flower was sturdier than you had thought.

This special flower, his mother had told his of the name but he could not remember it, was impossible to take apart until the flower itself had dried up. That, she had told him, was true beauty. Real, pure beauty was not easy to destroy, instead it lived on despite of what the world inflicted on it. True beauty was neither delicate or weak, but strong and capable of defending itself.

He had reminded himself of those words when his mother had died while protecting him and the other children that had gathered to celebrate Marion Goldfield's birthday at her parents' house. His mother had been a being of perfect beauty, throwing aside her wand when she had discovered it useless and grabbing a shovel while shouting at the kids to leave. She had gone down after a hard fight with the shovel still in a hard grip, not releasing her weapon even in death.

But Scorpius knew that she was not truly gone. Dead, yes, but not gone. Her beauty remained, if not in her body then in the very air that surrounding them and he knew right then and there that she would always be there, always protecting him, even if he could not see her. True beauty was immortal and so was his mother.

When his father had sent him away he had not been given much time to pack, Draco had wanted his son out of danger's way as soon as possible. His fathered had helped him pack, stuffing as many of his regular clothes as possible into an old backpack before sending him off to collect whatever he deemed himself unable to leave behind. His father had probably assumed that he would run after an old teddy bears or something of the sort, but instead, Scorpius ran for his mother's restroom.

He had quickly found his mother's old bottle of perfume and came back to his father with the flask tightly in his small hands. If his father had thought of saying something about it, the words had been stopped by Scorpius' stern eyes. This, he would not give up, his silver eyes had declared. His father had not the heart to disagree. An hour later he had found himself in a secret harbour, hidden by the darkness and pulled forward by his father's strong hand, glancing up at the yellow moon which shone deceivingly in the sky.

As they had gotten closer to the water he had spotted other people, not just one, two or five, no, their number must have been at least fifty. Several of them had been adults, but most of them had been children in his own age, some younger. The children had been hugged and kissed by their parents, receiving pats on heads and shoulders along with last-minute advices. The scene had very much reminded him of what his father had told him of platform 9 ¾, with one exception. Everyone had been crying.

Children had clung to their parents as they had been ordered to board the rather small ship that had been tied by the shore, not wanting to leave behind everything and everyone they knew and held dear. The parents had not been happy either, their fists and lips had clenched tightly as they had watched their children leave. They knew it was for their own good, that they had a much greater chance of live in Nation far off, but it hurt them just as much as it hurt the little ones.

Horrified, Scorpius had turned to his father, finally realising what his father's lack of packing had not told him earlier. His father was not joining him.

He remembered shouting and kicking his father as he tried to escape the grip on his hand that was holding him still. He did not want to go, did not want to leave his father and sail away on a vessel filled with people he did not know. His father had shouted at him and he had gone rigid; his father never shouted at him, not even when he was terribly angry with him. He did not remember his father's words, but he did remember him talking about his mother and the war and that he could no longer be with him. Vaguely, he recalled being embraced by strong, warm arms before being sent aboard the ship.

The boat had slowly made its way out of the harbour and out on the open sea, but thanks to the bright moon and the starlit sky he had still been able to see his father on the other side of the water, by that time joined by a dark man and a redheaded woman. Silently, they all had stood with their gazes fastened on what had seemed to be him, but the two adults he did not know had more likely been watching their own children as they slowly left their vision.

As the figures by the shore had grown smaller and smaller more and more of the children had left the reeling, when the last flicker of land had finally disappeared he had been all but alone, the only one left aside from him had been a little boy at his age with a mop of black hair, softly gazing out over the water that swirled wild beneath them.

A quiet sob had broken the silence. Scorpius had glanced over at the boy, but found him nonplussed. It was when the second sob shook his chest that he had realised that they came from him. Soon, he had found that he had tears running down his cheeks, giving him a salty taste in his mouth. For once he had not cared about the tears and had just let them flow as he sank down on the floor. He had not known as to why he was crying, whether it was due to him being ripped away from his father, missing his mother or simply because he was cold and hungry and slightly queasy from the way the waves slammed against the sides of the ship. All he had known was that his chest hurt as if there was a heavy weight on it, making it hard for him to even breathe.

A small whimper from his side had told him that the little boy had given in to the same power he had and started weeping and wailing for those left behind. Scorpius had not offered the boy a word of comfort and he had not received one, but somehow just sitting together and crying had made the pain lessen, not by much, but still. After what must had been a long time, even if it at that time did not feel so, when the bawling had tired them out to the point that only an occasional snivel was heard, someone with soft, gentle hands had lifted him up and carried him inside. Distantly, he had felt the hands slip his sweater over his hands and replace it with a warm shirt of a pleasant material, assumingly a pyjama.

Smooth fingers had run through his locks as he heard distant murmuring. The voice had not been familiar, but it had been nice and it had made him feel safe, which was all he cared for in that moment. He had been placed in a bed and buried himself among the blankets. Eyes he had not noticed closing opened as he recognised the heath beside him as that from another body. Upon the discovery of a now familiar black nest he had decided that it was alright and curled up against the source of warmth, which responded with the same movement. The following day had brought more crying, anger and feelings of abandonment, but for that night he had slept.

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Aaand I realise that I have no idea as to when I am supposed to use 'had'. That just sucks.


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